


is this darkness or smoke (the eyes are cheated, it's a myth)

by AceMoppet



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: "everything is never as it seems", Ambiguous/Open Ending, Amnesia, Angst, At least until s2 comes out, Canon-Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Mind Alteration, Dreams, Established Relationship, Fellas is it gay to smirk at your lover while you fight each with swords, Homo-erotic swordfights, In the way Hannigram is Unhealthy, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Morally Ambiguous Lovers, Mystery, Swordfighting, Temporary Amnesia, Unhealthy Relationships, also hint of vilgefortz/yennefer, but that does not happen, not in this fic anyway, to quote my dear friend Owl City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29754909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceMoppet/pseuds/AceMoppet
Summary: 'But there is nothing here. Only smoke, the man, and those cruel, green eyes.'Before Sodden, Vilgefortz keeps having strange dreams. They may prove to be his undoing... or perhaps his emancipation?
Relationships: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach/Vilgefortz of Roggeveen
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10
Collections: The Witcher Quick Fic #7





	is this darkness or smoke (the eyes are cheated, it's a myth)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written to torment my friend. Y’all pray for her.
> 
> Title inspired by ["Hai Ye Maya" from Don 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6LWoO3UIZSg)
> 
> [Here are the lyrics!](https://www.bollynook.com/en/lyrics/9644/hai-ye-maya/)

_ “One last time- do you consent to this?” _

_ He looks up.  _

_ The room flickers in the light of the candles that surround him- even so, he can still see his lover’s cruel eyes just beyond the circle where he stands. The bastard smiles at him- a challenge. _

_ He smiles back- a promise. _

_ “I consent.” _

* * *

Vilgefortz dreams of smoke.

As a battle mage, he knows of all the different kinds of smoke the world has to offer- the lilting tendrils off a lover’s pipe, the crackling heartiness of a campfire, the acrid stench of a battleground.

And yet this smoke is nothing like he’s ever seen before.

It’s a clean smoke, grey and scentless. It’s thick and never-ending, stretching out in front of him like an unrestful sea.

All he sees, all he  _ knows,  _ is this eternal smoke. Until he turns to see the eyes.

The eyes belong to a man- or, what  _ looks _ like a man. Really, the eyes belong to a shadow in a man’s shape, all fogged up from the incessant smoke. The man’s shape is not distinct, and it is only the eyes, pale green like the waters of a lake, that gives it any meaning. These eyes stare viciously into Vilgefortz’s soul, familiar in a way he yearns to remember.

Some nights, Vilgefortz just stands there, too consumed by the sense of loss to do anything else. Some nights, he walks, aimless and desperate, clawing at the edges of his mind to make sense of this grey world.

But there is nothing here. Only smoke, the man, and those cruel, green eyes.

* * *

_ “Are you going to be able to do it?” _

_ He looks up. _

_ His lover’s eyes are something of a marvel- lake-green and clear. They could cut you open like knives, flay your heart with just a glance from afar. But here in the spaces between their breaths, he can see the softness in them, a tenderness waiting to be cracked open. _

_ If he were a better man, he’d treasure that. _

_ He bares his teeth in a grin and goes in for the kill. “Are you?” _

* * *

There is something pushing him towards Sodden.

Logically, he knows that Sodden Hill is the last great stand all the Northern mages can make against Nilfgaard- if the hill is lost, there is little, if any, chance to turn the tide. Still, it doesn’t explain why there is something in his chest that keeps turning him towards the hill, like a needlepoint on a compass.

He despairs quietly when he and Tissaia are overruled in the mage council, but then Tissaia takes him aside and suggests going straight to Sodden any way, with whatever mages they can get. He immediately jumps on the idea, despite knowing logically that they have little to no chance of stopping Nilfgaard with the pitiful amount of power they’ll have. Nilfgaard is just too great, and there is no way the North will come out of this unscathed, if at all.

Still, there is something desperate thrumming in his chest that finally calms down when they reach the hill. He cannot deny the sheer relief- no,  _ satisfaction-  _ he feels then, like a lock has just clicked into place and the world is as it should be.

...Which is absurd. Nilfgaard is waging  _ war  _ on the Continent.

“Vilgefortz?”

He turns. “Ah, Tissaia,” he says, plastering an easygoing smile on his face. “Am I needed somewhere?”

“No, everything is going as per plan,” she says, but she looks him over, worry palpable in her eyes. “I just wanted to check in with your well-being.”

Vilgefortz blinks. “What do you mean?”

Tissaia gives him a dry look. “Don’t play coy, General,” she says. “It doesn’t suit you- and neither do your far-off glances and heartsick sighing. What is going on with you, Vilgefortz?”

He cannot share these… thoughts with anyone else. As a leader, he knows the importance of looking strong for the ones who follow. He cannot look weak, not even for a second- once the battle is over, perhaps he can seek some respite. 

It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it feels like his tongue will be scalded thrice over if he even dares to speak.

“It’s nothing,” he lies through his teeth. “Don’t worry about me- have you checked the south side yet?”

He’s not known Tissaia for long, but he can almost feel the disappointment radiating off of her. “I sent Sabrina there-”

“Brilliant,” he says, already walking off. “I need to go talk to her about the arrow supply anyways.”

“This conversation is  _ not  _ over, Vilgefortz!”

No, Vilgefortz thinks, it really is.

* * *

“Something’s wrong with you.”

Vilgefortz tenses but doesn’t stop sharpening his sword. “I didn’t think Tissaia would send you,” he says lightly.

“The world doesn’t revolve around Tissaia,” Yennefer spits out- Vilgefortz has to bite back a laugh. As always, Tissaia seems to be the sorceress’ weak point.  _ She should really learn to conceal that. _

“Your incessant brooding is fouling the very air,” the mage continues, calmer now, but no less snarky. “If you’re not careful, it’ll carry over to our soldiers- I’m no military expert, but even I can tell that’s a bad idea.”

Loathe as Vilgefortz is to admit it, she’s got a point. Still… “Then are you here to listen to my ‘troubles’?” he asks rhetorically, pushing his sword aside. “Perhaps we can exchange secrets like you and your schoolmates must’ve done at your sleepovers in Aretuza.”

Yennefer scoffs. “Do you think any of us would have admitted to anything inside those walls?” she says. “And I’m not here to hold your hand and listen to your feelings- we’re not chummy enough for that.”

“Ah,” Vilgefortz says, grinning easily at the banter. “And here I thought we were getting along so well.”

“You must not get along well with a lot of people, then,” Yennefer shoots back. She’s still speaking in that arrogant tone, but she’s smiling now, wicked and sharp.

Vilgefortz likes her- she’s raw and refined in a way that defies the world, and he somehow senses that if he let himself, he could fall in love with her very,  _ very  _ easily.

He won’t though. 

He picks up his sword and starts sharpening it again. “I’ll keep it under check,” he mutters, not willing to look her in the eyes anymore, even when he senses her confusion.

He tells himself it’s because they’ll go to battle soon- there’s no guarantee she’ll survive, no matter how much fight crackles through her blood. No use in hurting himself, he tells himself as she walks away.

He ignores the smoke that lingers in the back of his head.

* * *

_ “You’re unbalanced.” _

_ He looks up. _

_ His lover stands before him, the tip of his sword tracing his throat. His breath catches as he swipes it oh-so gently over the bump of his throat- his lover notices and smirks, lake-green eyes twinkling in cruel glee. _

_ “How will you defeat me on the battlefield if you cannot even beat me in practice?” he asks, blade dipping down to cut at his shirt.  _

_ He chuckles. “As per the plan, I’m not supposed to beat you.” _

_ His lover hums. “Maybe on the battlefield,” he says, light and nonchalant as he leaves little tears down his clothes. “But does that really satisfy you here? Don’t you want  _ **_more?”_ **

_ “Could you even handle more?” he asks, amused. _

_ His lover’s smirk gains a feral edge that sends his blood thrumming. “Why don’t you find out?” _

* * *

“Vilgefortz… now!”

He portals in, immediately taking a soldier down. He tucks and rolls with the movement and throws a sword at another, catching them straight in the head.

The next few moments go quick as he slices through soldiers like butter. He mows them down with ease, slashing and stabbing at necks.

The last soldier turns to face him slowly- ha! how stupid- and Vilgefortz hurls his sword at him, expecting an easy win-

But the soldier dodges, and the sword hits a tree instead.

The soldier’s facing him now, and Vilgefortz can see him clearly. His face is stained with ash and grit, his brown hair is slicked back in a military style- all marks of a battleworn soldier. But his eyes…

His eyes stare at Vilgefortz viciously, like knives ready to carve his guts.

_ Not him,  _ something in Vilgefortz says.  _ Don’t hurt him. _

He slashes out, fighting both his mind and the man with cruel eyes in front of him. Those eyes taunt him, mixing in with the smoke that’s always in his head now, fogging his mind and making him sloppy. 

The Nilfgaardian parries him easily, taunting him with a cool gaze. They push away and circle each other, like tigers looking for an opening. 

_ Strike first,  _ Vilgefortz thinks, moving forward even before the thought ends. 

The man dodges and darts forward, slashing down. Vilgefortz blocks his blade with a grunt and spins away. The Nilfgaardian brings his blade down once more, and Vilgefortz parries this time, pinning the swords against the man’s chest.

_ Yes,  _ he thinks wildly,  _ finally- _

The Nilfgaardian knocks his sword away.

_...Fuck. _

Vilgefortz steps back- just in time to avoid the blade slashing at his chest- and tries to reassess the situation. Just who  _ is  _ this man, that he can block him so easily?

Distantly, he hears Yennefer warning him to reserve his Chaos, but he can’t think past the blazing cruelty in the man’s eyes and how familiar it feels. There’s loss and smoke on the tip of his tongue, and he’s so fucking mad he summons his sword and flips it, trying to comfort himself with the familiar move.

The comfort is lost when the man smirks at him, eyes utterly gleeful and so godsdamned  _ familiar- _

Their swords crash together, the clash of steel harsh and brutal. The man swipes at his chest, and Vilgefortz goes for his neck, slashing messily with anger and that smoke.

The Nilfgaardian disarms him again, and Vilgefortz flips away. He hears Yennefer yelling in the back of his head, but it’s distant, covered by smoke and adrenaline. He summons his sword and rushes the man again, but he’s blocked once more. They grapple with each other, the man’s moves crisp as water while Vilgefortz gets sloppier and sloppier.

With one decisive move, the man twists his wrist, forcing Vilgefortz to drop his sword. Before he can dive for it, the man pushes him away with a snarl.

Vilgefortz stumbles back, barely catching himself before he trips off the hill. He reaches for his sword, but it doesn’t come to his scabbard. Before he can process that, something warm pours down face, and the coppery taste of blood fills his mouth.

_ Fuck,  _ he thinks, wiping frantically at his nose.  _ I’m out of Chaos. _

He’s panicking- there’s no other word for the way his veins go cold, the way his head spins and his stomach cramps on itself in fear. Some logical part of his brain still tries to point out that he shouldn’t be out of Chaos already, shouldn’t be this tired at all, but it’s washed away under the panic and the Nilfgaardian’s cold, unforgiving stare.

“What are you after?” Vilgefortz huffs, scrambling for some semblance of a plan. “What do you want?!”

The man steps forward, face unreadable as he raises his sword. 

“To get to the center of it all,” he says before slashing. Vilgefortz ducks the blade and grabs his arm, but the man hauls him closer and-

He looks up-

_ His eyes are green,  _ Vilgefortz thinks numbly, even as he’s kicked off the hill.  _ Like lake water- _

There’s a crack, a flash of pain, and then he knows no more.

* * *

**_“Is the recalibration done?”_ **

Cahir smirks. “It should be,” he says, swiping his sword clean. “He seemed to hit his head hard enough on the way down.”

Fringilla’s amusement passes down the connection.  **_“You like hurting him.”_ **

“Don’t take it too personally, Fringilla,” Cahir says, huffing out a laugh. “You know it’s no different for him.”

Fringilla hums.  **_“Certainly seemed different when we hid his memories.”_ **

“True,” Cahir says, sighing as he sits down on an errant stump. A little rest will do him good. “You should’ve seen how naive he was, Fringilla. So utterly powerless, and so confused as to why.”

**_“You forget I’m in your head,”_ ** Fringilla points out.  **_“I saw everything.”_ **

“True,” Cahir says again. “It was surprisingly fun, crushing the hope out of him. Maybe you could hide his memories again?”

**_“Don’t pull me into your weird sex shenanigans, Cahir,”_ ** Fringilla says, though there’s no bite to her words.  **_“Get another mage if you must.”_ **

Cahir tsks. “You’re no fun,” he grumbles, standing up again with a stretch. “In any case, what are our next plans?”

**_“That depends on how quickly you can get to the rendezvous point.”_ **

Cahir grimaces. “I’ll see you there then,” he mutters.

**_“Hurry.”_ ** Fringilla breaks the connection off, and Cahir is left alone.

Well, as alone as one can be in a forest with your lover lying unconscious at the bottom of a hill. 

He looks down.

Vilgefortz still hasn’t regained consciousness- there’s no guarantee he’d recognize Cahir immediately upon waking up, either. By all means, Cahir should want to get the fuck out of here, lest he gets roped into a round two.

And yet…

Cahir sighs and shakes his head. “Hurry up, Vilgefortz,” he murmurs before walking off into the battlefield’s smoke.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so there was a lot of stuff right here that I'm either glossing over or alluding to, but basically Vilgefortz was working for Nilfgaard the entire time. They wanted to cripple the Northern kingdoms, and the best way to do that is to get rid of the Northern mages. By engaging at Sodden Hill, they were banking on taking out a good dozen mages, and maybe capturing it if they could. The plan was that Vilgefortz would go in and lead the mages to battle at Sodden Hill with Nilfgaard- however, if at any point someone read his mind, the gig would be up. So he consented to having his memories hidden (hence the smoke) in order to carry out this mission. Alongside that, he was strongly influenced to get to Sodden, and he is made, through magic, to not be able to harm or kill any of the higher ups like Cahir and Fringilla. 
> 
> Whew, that was intense! If y'all have any questions, feel free to drop them in the comments below, and I'll be happy to answer them!


End file.
